


Two's Company, Three's No Crowd

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Exhibitionism, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, M/M, Top Miya Atsumu, Voyeurism, do it like they do on the Discovery Channel, not a threesome, straightforward Ushiwaka learns much more than he bargained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lacking insight on ways to ignite his fuse, Japan’s Cannon consults two trusted teammates for a visual presentation.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 104
Kudos: 780
Collections: Anonymous





	Two's Company, Three's No Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> hi
> 
> this is my third explicit sakuatsu offering after [Teach Me, Tune Me, Tempt Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787083) \+ [Within Sight, Within Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443362), and before [All Bets are Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790006) \+ [Spiced Up Slice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811360)
> 
> yes apparently I love commas in titles idk why
> 
> there aren’t even other commas in this a/n
> 
> also by the time I post this it will already be 11/15 in some parts of the world aka sakuatsu/ushisaku/ushisakuatsu day
> 
> the fic wasn’t timed this way but kind of a funny coincidence
> 
> enjoy the read
> 
> [twitter here (18+ only)](http://twitter.com/asakuatsu)

_Show some damn passion outside of volleyball, Wakatoshi._

His ex had texted in frustration to conclude their breakup, two days prior to the opening ceremony - not the _most_ opportune time in Ushijima Wakatoshi’s schedule, certainly, but he figures that it is one less person to look for in the stands.

He plays on, devotion again centered around his longest relationship, sending his spherical significant other smashing into Taraflex game after game. The once-every-four-years fan base grows: gifts flooding his agent’s office in Ikebukuro, his dormant Instagram account exploding with new followers.

Three matches into the Olympic round robin, he is forced to turn off comments on an old post, featuring himself lifting a jersey to wipe sweat.

“DAMN! You have _thirsty_ fans, Waka!” Kourai flashes a phone screen in his face the next day, showing a slew of very questionable comments below an entirely different photo.

“Thirsty?”

“PASSIONATE.” His teammate runs off, leaving him in wonder.

_I doubt leaving more obscene comments on my ex’s Instagram would’ve saved our relationship._

Within the boundaries of the Olympic Village grows a separate following, consisting of athletes of all genders and nations. But he cannot cheat on his soulmate, volleyball, at the moment, so Wakatoshi fields every flirtation - at least, the ones he recognizes - with polite indifference. Maybe the gymnast from Germany _had_ meant something when he slipped him the cocktail napkin two nights ago, but his forehead was quite sweaty at the time, so of course he used it for its intended purpose.

A while later, Aran had kindly used a second napkin to wipe off the random ink blots below his hairline. Wakatoshi still has no idea how those got there.

Anyway.

_Passion, Wakatoshi._

He had tried, _god knows_ he had tried - candlelight dinners and rose bouquets and sexual-positions-memorized-from-magazines and all. Sure, he _is_ on the quieter side when it comes to the bedroom, but he is also on the _larger_ side in more ways than one - or so he has been told, enthusiastically by several past lovers. By all his conclusive research, the anatomical element should’ve been more than satisfactory. At the very least, he has never failed to bring a partner to climax. So even if his volleyball-shaped heart is too pumped full of air, and even if most of his testosterone is reserved for more athletic purposes, it must mean that he has, at minimum, _a little_ “game,” as they call it - in the _non_ -volleyball definition.

_And what exactly inspires ‘passion,’ besides a decent genital organ and adequate copulation skills?_

For the time being, skills of another type have brought him all the way here, two days away from the bronze medal match at Tokyo 2021. They were underdogs by all means, but with home court advantage and the entirety of a nation behind them, he has served his duties as Japan’s Cannon fairly well.

However, there still rests that other cannon beneath his sleep shorts, by now _terribly_ underused.

_Perhaps,_ he mulls upon his bed that night, seated against the headboard and staring at his crotch, _I should have accepted one seduction attempt from the past couple of weeks. It could have been decent practice, or at least a viable case study._

Then and there, like recent approaches from the more aggressive batch of horny athletes, opportunity falls right into his lap - figuratively, that is.

“Mmm... _mmm…”_

Two deep, _deep_ moans, seeping into his space from just behind the thin wall he rests against. The first one vulnerable, and the second indulgent.

_That’s Kiyoomi-kun’s room._ His mental map determines with slight shock. _And_ definitely _his voice._

_“Oh...ahh…!”_

The sounds rapidly evolve, presenting evidence of an opening mouth - and circumstances far from innocent.

_Is he...pleasuring himself?_ Wakatoshi theorizes, but also thinks back to two consecutive weeks of utter quiet prior to tonight. At the beginning, he had been pleased to discover the team living arrangements - being adjacent to Kiyoomi and his notorious silence, certain to assure Wakatoshi serenity during these critical times. Had either of them succumbed to more lustful personal habits, they likely would’ve kept any reactions more discreet than this.

Right as confusion brews, another audible change creeps in to clarify the situation. The harmony almost masquerades as an echo - though upon closer listen, it is anything but identical, and brazenly reveals the presence of a second party.

“Mm…mm...”

_Oh, I am listening to_ sex _._ He deduces. For the sake of Kiyoomi’s privacy, he doesn’t actively try to identify the other individual. But alas, like a set meant for him, fate tosses muffled truth right into his southpaw.

“ _God,_ Omi-kun, I missed ya…” The owner of this new voice, heavy with regional dialect, is indisputable. “Ya know how hard it has been? To control m’self throughout this damn tournament?”

_Miya?_

The shock doesn’t measure up to the ancient block from that Karasuno 1st year, but it comes pretty close.

“The whole world was watching, _idiot...ah..._ we couldn’t risk that…”

“Well, _I_ ain’t the one who texted tonight’s invite, Omi-kun, so...dun’ mind if I _feast...”_

As unbelievable as the notion had been just seconds ago, the name-calling and taunts in this latest exchange fit seamlessly into his existing perceptions of his two juniors. Throughout life, Wakatoshi had presumed that _all_ conflict must find resolution, or at least compromise - but he is admittedly unsure where intercourse belongs on that spectrum.

_Is_ this _why their combos are always perfectly executed?_

As usual, his mind detours to volleyball. There is a brief hindsight, wondering whether Atsumu and himself should’ve engaged in _something_ carnal prior to the Canada game - Wakatoshi had misjudged three of the setter’s tosses back then - but the thought is, thankfully, only brief.

Squeaks of a bed begin to sound, each accompanied by a tremor throughout their shared wall.

“Omi...Kiyoomi... _fuck..._ ya feel so good...”

“ _Harder_ , you bastard, _harder…”_

His teammates’ choice of words are much harsher than he would ever be capable of, but they’re sincere, thirsty, _passionate_ \- chock-full of incensed emotions that Wakatoshi can grasp, even through an insulated barrier.

In response to the ongoing vibrations and intense dialogue, his groin stirs with enthusiasm. But discipline has always been Wakatoshi’s strong suit, so he reimagines the urge to masturbate to his childhood friend as a subpar block attempt, and suppresses it through precise control.

_I must respect their privacy._ He wills, and waits for his erection to obey.

Yet, as one part of him deflates, an unconventional idea - perfectly logical to him at this very moment - grows.

-*-

As Wakatoshi predicts, his two teammates are seated together in a far corner during breakfast, the lull in their adjacent existence completely contrary to seven hours ago. When he sets down his tray across from them, steady enough that neither bowls nor plates are disturbed, the composed pair don’t express a tinge of surprise.

“Good morning, Kiyoomi-kun. Miya.” He greets before sitting, posture stiff the entire way down.

“Morning, Wakatoshi-kun.” Kiyoomi acknowledges with a nod, while Miya sends a short wave, his mouth too occupied by pickled vegetables to follow suit.

“Did you two sleep well last night?” Wakatoshi dips chopsticks deeply into rice, and goes straight to the center of his intentions.

The duo immediately exchange a suspicious look.

“Um, yes?” Kiyoomi glances back at him, eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I would like to consult you on something.”

“...Me, too?” Miya speaks at last with disbelief, an index finger aimed at himself.

“Correct. _Both_ of you.”

With that, Kiyoomi lays down his utensils and straightens his spine, clearly discerning the gravity of the conversation. “What is it?”

“I was wondering.” He mixes in stringy natto, his next words as complex as the new concoction. “Would you let me...watch and study?”

A chuckle accompanies Miya’s animated brows, both now rising like the miso soup being lifted towards his lips. “Study? Study what, our serves?”

“No.” Wakatoshi’s first bite draws salty beans and sweet rice together, the eventual swallow leaving behind what he had always considered an ideal aftertaste.

A union of two opposites, sparking precisely what he seeks.

“I wish to study how the two of you have sex, if you would allow it.”

The whites of Kiyoomi’s eyes expand with alarm, while Miya spits out soup all over the table. As the setter scrambles to clean up, his other half looks on with mild disgust, appearing far more disturbed about the mess than Wakatoshi’s question.

“ _What?_ Is that like a... _kink?”_ Miya hisses as he wipes up wayward liquid, suddenly mindful to not amplify his voice. But even as he reacts, the spiker next to him remains mum.

“No. I’ve just been told that my chosen techniques in lovemaking are ‘dispassionate.’ I imagine that is...unacceptable for most people. Thus, I wish to improve.”

Absorbing the straightforward confession, Kiyoomi regards him with a cautious yet serious stare. “How did you even know about...us?”

“I overheard last night. Accidentally. It seems that the walls are rather thin.” He states the most basic facts. “It was admittedly...inspiring.”

Something within the praise flips a switch of sorts, and Wakatoshi thinks he sees pleasant surprise, as well as actual consideration, flash across two bewildered faces.

“Wakatoshi-kun…” Kiyoomi sighs at last. “I don’t mind the topic, but should we _really_ be talking about this in the middle of the Olympic Village cafeteria?”

“Oh. I just thought here might be better than practice, since we would need to focus on our drills there. I would prefer to not think of your...reproductive methods in the middle of a spike.”

For a moment, Miya looks like he wants to pass out.

“So ya heard...everything?” The words, rife with surrender, emerge as last clutches at sanity.

“Yes, I must apologize. I actually almost masturbated to your acts last night, but I was able to hold back.” With hopes to assure through honesty, he takes the confession further. “If you do not agree to my request, I promise I will not eavesdrop again. In fact, I plan on buying earplugs later today, so please carry on as you wish for the rest of our stay.”

Posture slackening in his chair, Miya looks close to fainting a second time - that is, until Kiyoomi gives his back a hard smack.

“Well, what happened already happened. And we are all adults here, so we might as well be open about discussing something like this.” He shoots a stern stare to his side. “ _Right_ , Miya?”

“Damn... _the_ Ushiwaka almost jerked off ta _me…”_ The setter is muttering to himself as he rocks back and forth, attention not directed at either of them. “And now ya wanna _watch_? Isn’t it easier for ya to like...find some _porn??”_

Wakatoshi recalls countless old incognito browser tabs that he had exited, many within two minutes of being opened. “I never see genuine love between the couples in pornography.” He proclaims those results of dedicated research. “Convincing acting does not appear to be part of that industry’s standards, I’m afraid. Therefore, I think observing an authentic relationship firsthand would be best.”

For once, Kiyoomi appears slightly rattled.

“Uh, well.” The clearing of his throat gives way to clarification. “Miya and I are not in an actual ‘relationship,’ either. _Just_ so you are aware.”

The revelation proves more than astonishing, as it disputes all logic Wakatoshi has compiled about courtship and intimacy over his 26 years.

“What does that mean?” He marvels. “I do not understand.” _Can passion possibly result from...such_ ambivalence _?_

“Omi-kun ‘n I are jus’ friends, Waka-kun. Friends who like ta’ play around every now’n then.” Miya punctuates the last words with pointed rhythm, seemingly recovered from his brief period of self-dread.

He mentally audits all the lustful exchanges last night, and indeed discovers a lack of semantics related to love, or anything committal. Nonetheless, as Wakatoshi himself practices, he has always preferred affection to be expressed through actions rather than words. And even without spoken promises, his analysis had interpreted - at the very least - _some_ heartfelt fondness between the two.

“This...is very confusing.” His brows knit together, unable to rationalize such conflict.

“Ever hear da term ‘fuck buddies?’” The question ends up a tad too emphatic, especially when exiting Miya’s throat.

Kiyoomi smacks the blond again, exasperated. “Miya, _enough. Not so loud.”_

“I assume ‘fuck buddies’ means exactly what it sounds like.”

He keeps his own volume low, as requested, but Kiyoomi still winces at his deadpan delivery before affirming.

“Yes. We fuck each other when we both feel like it, and we’re ‘buddies.’” Had it not been for the previous night, the curse word might have sounded vulgar coming out of his childhood friend’s mouth. “That’s it, though. Friends with benefits - _no_ commitments.”

“Fascinating. And for how long have you two been involved like this?”

“About nine months.” “Almost a year, give or take?” Identical answers surface simultaneously.

_Ah, that explains why Kiyoomi-kun’s no longer averse to sex itself._

“So technically, you are still free to sleep with other people.” Wakatoshi thinks back to all his overlooked opportunities from the past week alone, and imagines his teammates enduring similar advances. “But from what I overheard last night, neither of you have had other partners during these Olympics?”

“...nah. Too risky.” Miya vehemently shakes his head, as if the mere idea were unthinkable. “Betta to just go with what ya know, eh, Omi-kun?”

With that, an arm casually wraps around Kiyoomi’s back, and a doting grin widens below the pair’s mutual gaze.

“I guess...” The spiker murmurs, cheeks demurely flushing at the contact.

Wakatoshi senses confusion bubbling again, but decides to contain his doubts for the time being.

“Well, ‘going with what one knows’ is also my philosophy in life.” He returns to the subject at hand. “Which is why I am asking you for this kind favor. I am at least familiar with you already, and you are both of similar height and build as me.”

An elongated period of silence passes, with Miya eventually speaking up first.

“I’ll let...Omi-kun make this decision, since ya two have been friends longer.” A palm squeezes the younger man’s shoulder, gently deferring.

He waits patiently as Kiyoomi scrutinizes him, a portrait of concentration no less intense than any of his preparations across a net.

“You _really_ want our help, Wakatoshi-kun? Even if Miya and I are not romantically involved?”

“I believe this is the best strategy for me, yes. But please do not feel pressured, I know I have nothing to offer in return, so I can likely find alternatives to resolve this issue.”

“Well, since you already heard us go that far…” Kiyoomi sighs, and turns towards the setter as if soliciting final approval. “Plus, we’ve all pretty much seen each other near-naked in the locker rooms…”

“Yah, ‘n we’re all _hot shit_ \- _ow_!”

A third smack lands, both more playful and more forceful than its predecessors.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, there’s not much else to hide, and I always prefer to not leave things unfinished…so...sure?”

“Perfectly fine with me, if that’s what both of ya want.” Miya agrees with surprising ease, though a condition follows thereafter. “ _But_ \- not ‘til _after_ these games end. Like ya said, Waka-kun - we gotta focus for now.”

An invisible weight lifts within Wakatoshi’s chest, his already steadfast mind further balanced. Somehow, as unlikely and outlandish as the couple in front of him has been, acquiring applicable results from this study feels like a guarantee.

“I agree, Miya. We can decide on the specific details after our last match.”

“Alrighty.” Retracting his hand at last, the blond begins to massage his knuckles. “Until then - time ta’ get ready for practice, so we can snatch that bronze, right?”

Next to him, Kiyoomi looks on with a strange blend of amusement and confidence.

_Fondness._ The keyword reiterates in Wakatoshi’s head, defining what he witnesses with additional certainty.

“Yes, but I will finish my meal first.” He finally takes another bite from his barely-eaten bowl.

“We’ll see you at the gym in that case, Wakatoshi-kun.”

As the duo stands up to leave together, Wakatoshi notes how Atsumu subconsciously collects both their trays, ensuring that Kiyoomi wouldn’t need to touch the grimy contents.

_Just friends with benefits?_ He ponders again, and wishes to ask - but resorts to delayed gratitude instead.

“Many thanks to both of you. I appreciate this.”

-*-

The next few days consist of one glorious victory and so many riotous celebrations that Wakatoshi stops counting. His obligations fulfilled, he watches - earplugs securely inserted each night - as his Instagram account welcomes another influx of fans. For the rest of his time in the Village, he lets this virtual group run amuck in the comments, and studies their unhinged, written fervor one by one.

**He’s kinda cold on TV, but I bet it’s a different story elsewhere, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.** The reply to one comment reads.

_I still have much to learn._ He humbly self-critiques, and begins looking forward to a post-Olympics life with less deprivation.

At the closing ceremony banquet, Miya pulls him aside, divulging plans of staying in Tokyo an extra week to sightsee.

“We booked a suite at the Park Hyatt. What night do ya wanna join us?”

Mid-champagne sip, Wakatoshi considers his own wide-open schedule. “Tuesday, perhaps?”

“Tuesday it is.”

And so, here he stands four nights later, in the dimly-lit corridor of one of the city’s premier hotels, somewhat doubtful that such a splurge was a wise financial decision for his two peers.

The door swings open, revealing Miya standing in a black bathrobe and white slippers.

“Come in! Omi-kun is showering.”

Wakatoshi considers joking about how the younger man resembles his Black Jackals self in such a get-up, but all words fall wayside as soon as he steps into the room. 

_Oh, the setting_ does _make a difference._ He notes.

There are no candles or rose petals of any kind, contrary to the tedious suggestions of countless online articles, and the space itself is sparsely decorated with minimalist furniture. But the floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a spectacular 31st-floor nightview, halfway concealed behind sheer curtains to still ensure privacy.

“If ya wanna feel on top of the world with yer partner...doin’ it literally sometimes helps.” Miya chuckles beside him.

“Should I spend more generously on locations like this? My apartment is only on the third floor.”

“Nah - maybe once in a blue moon. Omi-kun ‘n I both live in _2nd_ floor apartments, ‘n we spend most of our time there just fine.”

“I see. How often is ‘most?’”

“Mm...four nights a week--”

_That seems frequent for friends with benefits._ Wakatoshi assesses.

“--at my place, the other three at his? Somethin’ like that. This way, Omi-kun doesn’t have ‘ta clean too often.”

“You spend... _every_ single night together?”

“Lately, yah.” Miya casually shrugs, before a frantic air suddenly overtakes him. “But hey - I _swear_ we’re not always havin’ sex! Sometimes we’re just drinkin’ and cuddlin’ and shit.”

The flawed explanation only revives plenty of thoughts that had confounded Wakatoshi back during their breakfast. But with the other man now wandering away, he decides to table further questions for another night.

“Here’s where ya can sit.” The setter drags a chair out from the sole office desk, its surface occupied by a couple of colorful containers. “And uh, both lotion _and_ lube, in case ya get too turned on? We forgot to ask what ya preferred.”

“I will likely not use either, but thank you.” Wakatoshi follows the path towards his seat, somewhat impressed by the preparation. Once he settles down, he quickly examines the existing offerings, before removing personal supplies from his knapsack.

Meanwhile, Miya shoves the duvet atop the bed to one side.

“No need to hold back, ya know. If yer turned on - it’s kinda a compliment for us!” He swings around again. “Uh, is that a... _clipboard_?”

Wakatoshi rests his treasured fountain pen - a proud purchase of 24,500 yen from the Montblanc store - upon the secured sheet of paper. “Yes. May I take notes?”

“I...I guess…?” The response is hesitant, but conceding. “Damn, this study _is_ pretty official, huh. I really hope we show ya what ya need, Waka-kun.”

“I welcome _any_ inspiration."

“...we’ll do our best.”

The blond loosens the belt attached to his robe, and slips it completely off as he walks towards the closet. While he hangs the garment, Wakatoshi drifts his gaze over stretches of bulky muscle, the most arresting being the impressive girth of both thighs.

“Not too different from the locker room, right?” The owner of said thighs saunters back, tongue stretching outward after the tease.

_Both true and false_. Wakatoshi contemplates, noting how bronzed complexion reflects differently - more _alluringly_ \- under the mood lighting of their current space.

For a short while, the pitter-patter of Kiyoomi’s shower serves as the only white noise to an ongoing silence. Next to him, Miya now stands with both hands settled on his hips, clad in only fire red briefs and as unabashed as Wakatoshi expects.

“Uh, maybe a rhetorical question, Waka-kun, but...ya top, right?”

He blinks. “You mean am I the one who puts my penis into---”

“Yah yah that…” Miya cuts him off with a grimace. “ _Jesus,_ ya make it sound so _technical.”_

“Yes. I prefer doing things that way.”

“Then ya can watch _me_ for the most part, a’right?”

Wakatoshi blinks again, as he had always been aware of Kiyoomi’s need for control. “Between the two of you... _you_ are the ‘top’?”

_Harder, you bastard, harder…_

_Ah._ The abrupt recollection becomes a reminder of what he should’ve known.

“Yah…” Miya shrugs. “Though we can go both ways, Omi-kun likes that better…is that surprisin’?”

“It is not, I guess.”

In fact, Wakatoshi dissects, it is simply intriguing that someone as outwardly proud as Miya would “go along” with Kiyoomi’s preferences, but ultimately logical that Kiyoomi is the one who _retains_ control due to such an agreement. Of course, it also explains why days ago, the setter had easily complied with Kiyoomi’s decision towards Wakatoshi’s current “participation.”

All in all, it seems that even outside of the court, Miya’s selflessness rings true, especially when it comes to this particular wing spiker.

_Is it tolerance? Or trust? Or something else?_

Whichever way being the case, he knows he can only keep observing. Of course, he has never observed Miya _this_ closely, as they command different positions in-game. But tonight, Wakatoshi relents, he must pay attention to all of the blond’s “positions.”

Just as he wonders whether Miya might show off a Pretzel Dip or a Butter Churner - those had been two interesting ones he never dared to try himself - the shower finally turns off.

“Ya ready?” Miya, yet to turn himself into a version of western carnival food, flashes a wink.

“Yes, and I will stay quiet.” Wakatoshi assures. “I am quite skilled at that.”

“Yep, ya are.” With that, rounded buttocks adopt salacious sways as they move onward, “But if ya _really_ have a question...don’t hold back, ‘kay?”

“I will not.”

Miya comes to a stop right next to the bathroom, leaning a tricep against the adjacent wall. “Plus, I personally think bein’ louder tends to be better for the _overall_ experience…”

His voice wanes as the door opens, hissing steam bursting outward as if setting a stage. Gradually, the main performer’s silhouette emerges, also donning a black robe as he towels at wet hair.

“Hello, Kiyoomi-kun. Please pretend that I am not here.” Wakatoshi announces.

He quickly discovers that the statement isn’t necessary, as his childhood friend doesn’t seem to have heard a single word. As soon as Kiyoomi steps out, his attention becomes fully trained on the waiting Miya, who proceeds to pull him into a bruising kiss.

_Passion, Wakatoshi._

It’s only the first real action he witnesses, yet he already receives the word’s impact deep in his bones. Tremors of varied severity trigger throughout his body as he watches two mouths collide and fuse; two tongues, brazenly probing into caverns well-known to the other.

It feels like eternity before Kiyoomi draws back, eyes dazed but unwavering.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

_I am already invisible to them._ Wakatoshi marvels at the pair’s mellow greetings, and the amount of focus one must possess in order to ignore his glaring existence. _They are entirely wrapped up in each other from the very beginning._

Intuitively, his hand grips the dormant pen, allowing ink to flow smoothly from its nib.

  1. **Focus on your partner. Do not get distracted by anything - especially not volleyball.**



While he writes, Miya’s teasing voice sounds a short distance away. Though not looking in that direction, Wakatoshi can practically see the foxgrin plastering his face.

“Let’s show Waka-kun a good time, yah?”

Heeding the reminder, Kiyoomi finally turns to acknowledge him. “Welcome, Wakatoshi-kun. If you get too turned on…”

He lowers the pen and lifts a hand. “I promise I will take care of it in private, and I will not make a mess.”

As a follow-up, he removes a handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks, drawing a smirk from the wing spiker before he looks away. Then, with tantalizing slowness, Kiyoomi’s long fingers untie his own robe, spreading the sides open to unveil two rather significant pieces of neckwear.

Wakatoshi’s eyes widen at the reveal, but it’s Miya who commits the exaggerated gasp. His next words, likely improvised, are saturated with flirtation.

“Are ya my _medal_ tonight, Omi-kun?”

“No.” Kiyoomi removes one of the gleaming straps to loop it around the blond’s head, eyes tracking its freeform cascade down cornsilk locks and a wiry neck. “You are _mine.”_

Then, with one audacious tug at their sacred award - Wakatoshi isn’t sure who tugs first - the two’s lips meet again. This time, between bare chests, the matching bronze medals gently knock together with every movement, and Wakatoshi thinks he will never manage an innocent Olympic Podium memory for the rest of his life.

_This is..._ definitely _passionate. Breathtaking, in fact._

He picks up the pen once more.

  1. **Include cherished objects in your seduction or foreplay.**



At the moment, Wakatoshi considers his relationship with the Olympic medal to be platonic at best. But perhaps, exceptions can be made, considering the attractive intensity of the unfolding scene.

The kiss carries on, and evolves into another stage of carnal displays. Hands Wakatoshi himself has examined and high-fived, now groping at body parts in desperation; throats that hollered his name for plays, reduced to amplifiers for noise that would make inanimate objects blush.

He is not inanimate, but he is, without a doubt, blushing.

At some point, Kiyoomi’s robe begins a descent down one shoulder, then the other. But rather than letting it pool at their feet, Miya puts a complete stop to their debauchery before removing the garment with care, his setter hands gently gathering terrycloth to fold into a faultless square. The process is so bizarre, yet habitual, that Wakatoshi determines it is definitely no performance just for his sake. 

Also no performance is the way Kiyoomi watches Miya at every step: patient, appreciative, and once again, fond.

None of that seems to affect the blond as he returns to the bed, lips plumper than earlier, and places the robe at its far corner - out of the way, yet still within reach if needed. Upon passing him, Wakatoshi observes a noticeable new bulge that’s no average muscle, and a glance back in the bathroom’s direction reveals an identical case, immensely jarring below hanging bronze.

_Ah. They are both quite well-endowed themselves._

“Where d’ya want me, Omi?” Miya rests his medal carefully on the nightstand, and continues the conversation as if no third party is present.

Kiyoomi folds his arms. “Bed, _obviously_.”

“Well, ya could’ve chosen the _wall_ like last night - how was I s’pposed ‘ta know?”

“After how you almost _dropped_ me?” The spiker lingers at the edge of impatience. “Never again.”

Miya paces along the mattress, stopping just as he rounds the corner. “Ya said ‘never again’ the last time that happened, too. So…”

All precarious sexual undertakings aside, Wakatoshi considers jotting down something about verbal banter, but decides himself truly incapable of such a skill.

The idea soon proves unnecessary anyhow, as Kiyoomi strides forward in place of furthering the debate. Long limbs elevate before they topple Miya’s stance, sending his large frame backward until it falls haphazardly onto resilient springs.

The second medal comes off, set aside on the opposite nightstand next to a turquoise tube and a box of condoms. Then, Wakatoshi’s sex education program transitions into a nature documentary.

He watches as Kiyoomi transforms from subdued 25-year-old into a cunning predator, crawling, sprawling over his prey with little of his famous restraint intact. More kisses land - lips and tongue and also teeth - claiming open expanses of skin like territory free for his taking. They invade in a downward fashion, widening the border of his ownership from neck to hip.

Despite his vantage point being somewhat limited, Wakatoshi hears each sharp intake of Miya’s breath, hinting at the increasing amount of marks that might show up on his skin in a few hours’ time. Every arch of the setter’s neck brings a satisfied grin into view, while his torso instinctively bends into whichever direction Kiyoomi’s mouth travels.

_And here we have the weasel, retaliating against its natural enemy, the fox._ Wakatoshi narrates subconsciously, imitating many _Planet Earth_ DVDs he has viewed late at night with heavy interest - a much preferred choice to disappointing films featuring the animalistic behaviors of naked human beings.

Yet upon the bed, Kiyoomi serves as proof that such moments _can_ be appealing, after all. As if exploiting a weakness, he is now removing Miya’s briefs by mouth - crimson waistband clenched hard between teeth, dragging in reverse until an engorged cock becomes the new star of the show.

As Kiyoomi yanks fabric further down dangling legs, Miya extends both arms on the opposite end, tucking his wrists beneath his head.

“It’s been ready for ya for a while.” Hips thrust once into the air, propelling his erection into a light bounce.

Without a word and without mercy, Kiyoomi dives in, lifting the shaft upright before swallowing Miya nearly to the hilt - on the first go.

_So his throat is...as flexible as the rest of his body parts._ A jolt buzzes through Wakatoshi, but moreso at the astonishing discovery than the daring act itself.

The documentary reel continues, treating him to scenes of Kiyoomi utterly indulging on every one of Miya’s 20-some centimeters. A raven head bobs at the inconsistent pace he sets and then resets, always in absolute command of his meal. Throughout being devoured, Miya does not make any wayward attempts to touch or grab, as if obeying an existing pact made long ago. What _does_ run wild, however, is his mouth.

“Oh...god, Kiyo-omi...yah… _yah…..._ right there...”

_Ah, so this is what Miya meant by “louder” being better._ For Wakatoshi, the earlier suggestion proves scarily accurate, as the setter’s groans are affecting his libido even more than Kiyoomi’s vigorous efforts.

  1. **Be vocal. Inform your partner how much you enjoy what they are doing.**



He writes, and tests the speech pattern himself - _yah, yah, yah_ \- lips parting and closing with rhythm but without sound. It all feels quite strange for the time being, but Wakatoshi decides that as with all things, more practice should improve his delivery.

A guttural groan draws his attention away from the clipboard again. When he turns, the nature documentary has been paused by Miya’s elevated body, sliding backwards to literally tow his glistening cock out of the suction of Kiyoomi’s mouth.

_The willpower that must require!_ Wakatoshi awes, and begins to understand how the setter can push his physical limits for the perfect toss.

Above still-parted lips, coal black brows pinch together in displeasure.

“I wasn’t done...” 

“Dun’ think ya want me ‘ta be done too fast, right?” Miya somehow finds enough additional strength to pull the other back onto the bed. “I’ll make it up to ya right now, Omi.”

A few agile movements, and their positions switch via a hurried barrel roll. Up top, muscled limbs bracket a lanky frame, tedious enough to keep some skin in contact, but not quashing with weight.

“Hope ya accept this apology.” Miya places a smooch right below a black hairline.

The younger man makes no promises, but can’t resist a gasp as the kisses continue past his cheeks, intensifying as they go. Whereas the previous scene had resembled the most earthly of demeanors, Wakatoshi watches Miya go into each move as an act of reverence, like he already knows Kiyoomi will bask in any and all. There exists strategy in where he chooses to target - worshipping the bend of a collarbone, the inside of an elbow, a dip two-thirds of the way down the abdomen - spots evidently learned from months of experience.

Throughout, Kiyoomi proves to be much quieter in comparison, his tangible reactions limited to shivers and hushed mews. But they are sodden with honesty, baring far more than his spoiled body, flaunting exactly how much he relishes his dual roles of deity and prey.

It’s a profound spectacle, and the desire to achieve something similar wedges itself between Wakatoshi’s few life goals.

  1. **Memorize sensitive spots, and savor to the maximum.**



Kiyoomi’s underwear disappears somewhere in the middle of the note taking, an exile contrary to the earlier thoughtful treatment of his robe. His generous length, flushed in shades many times darker than its surrounding skin, rises and falls against a breathing belly - pulsing, waiting.

It awaits Miya, who squeezes contents from the turquoise tube into his palms and lathers it throughout. Armed with a lethal smile, he reaches his right hand downward, gripping both their cocks before stroking them together slow and long. Once again - demonstrating experience, manifesting exact speeds that make Kiyoomi whimper nonstop.

Wakatoshi can’t look away from the mesmerizing slides, the pitter-patter that no longer stems from shower water, the emerging pearls of precome visible from even where he sits. The couple’s pants of pleasure expand the ache in his groin, stimulated by delight rather than lust, reaffirming that his decision to study these two - no matter how unreal they allege their relationship to be - had been wise.

“How do we look so far, Waka-kun?” Miya suddenly looks up at him, a wink adding friskiness to eroticism.

Caught off-guard, he flashes an awkward thumbs up. “Very good. Your confidence - I respect it, Miya.”

“Don’t...inflate his ego so much…ah _fuck…”_ Above gripped sheets, Kiyoomi protests weakly.

“Ya know ya crave it, Omi-kun...” A thumb runs over two sensitive, leaking heads. “Ya enjoy...how I know _exactly_ what I’m doin’.”

_“Unfortunately…”_

At the admission, the blond’s smile stretches from ear to ear, and mischief blankets over his features.

“Hey Waka-kun,” He calls out again. “Yer also left-handed...in private, yah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Like a sleight of hand, Miya adeptly switches his grip from right to left, and _accelerates_ \- the modified method seemingly wielding even stronger expertise.

“We might never be perfectly ambidextrous in volleyball, but in bed…it’s easy to master both...”

With that, his attention returns to Kiyoomi, newly freed fingers enchanting his partner in a myriad of ways - firm massage of a scalp, teasing tweaks of a nipple, strenuous caresses behind a thigh - actions more fearless than before, emboldened by his dominant hand.

Kiyoomi’s neck tosses back with abandon, embedding his head deeper into the mattress.

“Ya good, Omi?”

“Yes…don’t stop... _Atsumu...”_ Miya’s first name sounds for the first time all night - and for the first time ever in Wakatoshi’s memory. Years of apparent refusal to address the setter properly, crumbling under the forces of nightly passions.

_Oh. So it can feel_ that _satisfying._ He thinks back to all the instances where he had left one arm slack, and makes serious plans to evolve.

  1. **Use both hands as much as possible.**



“Shit...Atsumu I’m...I’m getting _too_ close…”

Miya halts immediately at Kiyoomi’s beckoning, grip released and body shifting away until his feet plant against carpet. As he steps back to catch his breath, however, the resting figure whines again, objecting to the complete loss of touch.

“Can’t have it both ways, ya know.” The playful tongue makes another cameo.

Despite a second display of willpower, Wakatoshi notices a wobble in the blond’s step as he turns towards the nightstand, this time grabbing both the lube and the adjacent box. It’s an exhibit of different materials from there: foil making its way between Miya’s teeth, followed by soft rubber enclosing around rigid flesh. The turquoise tube accompanies him on the brief journey back to Kiyoomi’s side, more of its contents soon dousing both his hands and his protected erection.

Wakatoshi cannot see the wing spiker’s face clearly, but from all of Miya’s pleased, seductive expressions, he’s convinced that whatever looks up from the bed is at least similar.

“Here comes the main event, Waka-kun.” The setter announces without sparing a glance at him. “Hope yer still payin’ close attention.”

_Yes_. He answers mentally, deeming the moment inappropriate to disturb.

Long legs spread open, permitting a broad form to lean forward between them, strength and endurance sustaining a risky hover until two heads are parallel once more. Amber eyes adopt a dreamlike quality, their blinks almost in slow motion as they drink in the sight underneath.

At the other end, fingers probe at a spot barely obstructed from Wakatoshi’s view. It only takes a few seconds for Miya’s pupils to dilate further, the surrounding color gleaming with surprise.

“ _Oh,_ ya got yerself wide and ready for me.” He declares without shame. “No wonder ya took yer time in the shower.”

_“_ Shut up,” Kiyoomi drags his neck down for a hasty kiss. “And _hurry up.”_

Miya chuckles, and gladly complies. But even as he adjusts his lower half, his attention fixates on Kiyoomi’s face, a pair of suns radiating comforting light in the after hours. The gaze is warm - filled with that now-recognizable fondness, and emotions far beyond two friends toying around.

Something stirs other than Wakatoshi’s groin - a different kind of warmth, simmering within his ribcage. 

_Surely they realize...how they look at each other?_

The thought sinks into obscurity, right as he watches Miya’s cock calmly sink home. 

“Oh... _yes…!_ ” Kiyoomi practically sobs.

Above him, a gentle face, forsaking its signature smugness. “Kiyoomi…”

From then, it’s all names and yes’s moaned in cadence with rhythmic motions, reprising acts performed for nine months and counting. The burn of two conjoined bodies raises both the temperature within the room and within Wakatoshi’s veins, heated blood reforming his volleyball-shaped heart, altering the course of his testosterone. He scrutinizes intently for position - the way Miya lifts one of Kiyoomi’s legs, bending it over a shoulder before continuing his momentum. The latter’s renowned flexibility proves advantageous, as he exhibits no sign of discomfort, even as his thigh is pushed further and further into his torso.

_This is an attractive option._ Wakatoshi thinks. _But I may need to request stretching as warm-up in advance._

“Remember that it’s not ‘bout the power of yer thrusts, Waka-kun.” As if reading his mind, Miya begins to advise, somehow still conscious of Wakatoshi’s needs in the midst of everything else. “Ya gotta...find those exact spots...where yer partner...wants ya to hit…”

After each broken phrase, he heaves forward with intention, serving himself up as example.

“Choose placement...over power...Wakatoshi-kun… _ah...”_ Kiyoomi adds between shortened breaths, using lexicon better suited for the court. “And you can always...put some spin on it…”

The blond interrupts. “But not the Southpaw kind, mind ya.”

Feigning annoyance, Kiyoomi grabs ahold of Miya’s ass from both sides, rolling hardened muscle with measured control. As described, the thrusts upgrade through adopting a circular motion - round and around downward, then a languid drag upward, then repeat.

_“Fuuuck.”_ Miya’s voice strains, wholly scandalized. “Fuck yah...ya feel _so_ good Omi...nothin’ in the world compares ‘ta this…”

Having recently won an Olympic bronze medal himself, Wakatoshi has personal doubts about that claim, but the fiery lust on Miya Atsumu’s face is, admittedly, quite persuasive.

  1. **Put some spin on it.**



The provocative undulations continue for minutes - _hours?_ He has lost track - before any of them manages another sentence.

“We’re gonna end with the best view for ya, Waka-kun.”

Miya starts to manipulate position, rotating Kiyoomi’s elevated leg and body until the spiker lays fully on his side, the entirety of his nude figure now on raw display for Wakatoshi to survey. His unmasked expression, previously hidden due to angle, is one that may never grace another pair of human eyes. Between erratically batting lashes and a trembling jaw, it’s lush with ecstasy, on the precipice of relinquishing all his discipline.

Without disconnecting them, the second body lounges at his rear, skin flush against skin as it continues pumping from behind. The hand that gifts Kiyoomi on the court reaches around to bestow presents of touch, controlled yet lewd across all his most intimate parts. 

“Tsumu… _faster…”_

Those are Kiyoomi’s last words before he twists his neck, desperate to receive kisses that Miya lavishly gives. Amongst their tangling tongues, the request is obeyed from both front and back, a fisted grip speeding up while hips piston at a frenzied pace.

Wakatoshi sees the orgasm detonate in Kiyoomi’s eyes before anywhere else, orbs of onyx overcome by euphoria, illuminating them enough to take on dark emerald hues. The sensation voyages further, spurring on cries of _Atsumu_ and distributing shudders throughout his enraptured frame. Streams of Kiyoomi’s come releases between Miya’s fingers, splashing pearline across chest and stomach, planting temporary evidence for his crime of losing control. 

Seconds later, another round of ecstasy commences, with Miya moaning illegible words into Kiyoomi’s hair as he clutches him close, their joint convulsions tempering to something serene. His view obstructed, Wakatoshi is unable to witness most of the specific details, but he figures that this part of the presentation would be unique from person-to-person, anyway. Plus, the content smile on Kiyoomi’s face hints that whatever he heard had been pleasing, so the least Wakatoshi can do tonight is grant them one secret unknown to anyone else.

He waits patiently for their embrace to ease, and appreciates the ravishing beauty of the shared pose. Just as he starts to question whether sleep had overtaken both unintentionally, Miya finally shifts with a groan, sitting up before removing and discarding the used condom. Then, in another unofficial ritual, he takes initiative to clean up the scene with his one still-functioning muscle. A pink tongue tours Kiyoomi’s skin a final time, lapping at all the extracted essence, leaving no drop behind. And as Miya licks, four hooded eyes meet above recovering flesh, forming a wordless connection - captivated, hypnotized, unbreakable.

Wakatoshi wallows in unprecedented desire, not for the activities he had just played audience to, but for the telltale truths he perceives in-between. Despite Miya’s overblown antics, despite Kiyoomi’s irritable nature, despite all their denials - what exists between them is more insatiable than thirst and more zealous than passion. It’s an illogical pairing of two halves, having accepted their differences and flaws, turning conflict into completion for something deep within.

_And here we have two adult humans, concluding actions theorized as mere embellishments for friendship._ He mentally scripts narration for this particular documentary’s ending. _Yet analysis of subtle behavior has shown that: a different theory may have stronger validity._

_[Passion, Wakatoshi. It is beyond anything sexual.]_ An additional subtitle reads.

_[The heart is where it takes root.]_

“Did ya have fun?” The more boisterous of his two subjects pipes up first, as expected.

Wakatoshi shakes his head to escape the reverie. In front of him now, Kiyoomi is lying flat on his stomach, a pointed chin propped up by both forearms. Miya looms over him, two roaming fingers softly tracing circles onto the skin of a bare back.

“Yes. That was wonderful.” He nods, somehow certain that Miya is drawing volleyballs. “I would applaud you, but that seems too excessive.”

A rare grin emerges on Kiyoomi’s face, its slyness almost rivaling his counterpart’s.

“You know, Wakatoshi-kun...I’m pretty sure I had a crush on you, when I was much younger.”

The confession comes as a slight shock, yet it also fits perfectly into the mysterious logic of Kiyoomi’s initial permission. “ _Oh._ I see.” Wakatoshi finds only one way to respond. “Did _you_ know that, Miya?”

“Ya, ‘course I knew. Haven’t been any secrets between us for a while.” Himself unruffled by the confession, the setter leans down to plant a kiss - luscious and borderline possessive - on the back of Kiyoomi’s neck. “Ya could’ve been me, Waka-kun…but sorry, I won’t let go of Omi-kun now.”

_I thought you were friends with benefits?_ He nearly asks in what would be an uncommon showcase of sarcasm, but then decides - hopes - that all three of them have already recognized reality.

“Well, ahem.” Wakatoshi says instead, with purposeful double meaning. “I’m sincerely glad you have found each other.”

No response arrives, for the act of affection to Kiyoomi’s neck had apparently triggered a whole new set of distractions. The spiker has towed Miya towards him, locking their lips with subdued fervor, as if professing his own commitment.

_And yet, they remain as dense as ever._ Wakatoshi sighs.

“Thank you both again, for your time and efforts.” He stands up, raising his voice slightly to communicate departure. “This was quite unforgettable, but I promise I will never think about either of you in my future...dalliances, solo or not.”

Miya ends the kiss, and blows Wakatoshi another one through the air. “Feel free to keep thinkin’ of me, Waka-kun!”

There is the familiar sound of palm smacking against muscle, followed by Kiyoomi’s sincere words. “I hope we showed you everything you wished to know.”

“Yes, you definitely did.” Wakatoshi forces a smile. “Good night, and enjoy the rest of your stay in Tokyo.”

His short trip towards the exit should’ve been, by all means, effortless. But with each step, an uncomfortable weight imbalances him, exerting gentle pressure to not leave important matters unresolved - to not neglect what resounds loud and clear.

_Ignorance may bring about bliss, but when bliss already exists independent of ignorance, there should be no need for the latter._ He surmises, right as he pulls the door ajar.

_I should also show them - what_ they _likely wish to know._

So the door closes, and he turns towards his oblivious friends. 

“Actually, if I may express one more thing.”

Upon the mattress, the couple regards him with curiosity, but also a vague degree of anticipation.

Wakatoshi continues, as straightforward as he normally is. "You said I should think of you as 'fuck buddies,' but to me, you are not simply fucking."

With that, he straightens his posture, delivering the most confident conclusion he has ever drawn.

“You are, by my amateur opinion and limited research, _very_ much in love with each other. That is all.”

Without gauging any reaction, he bows deeply, and reopens the exit route. The ensuing footsteps are free of burden, carrying him towards optimistic future pursuits, not to mention a new lease on life itself.

_Passion, Wakatoshi. It is unconditional._

As he passes a recycling bin next to the elevator, Wakatoshi removes the ink-filled sheet from the clipboard. By his hands, the paper breaks down into a dozen neat pieces, descending into disposal one by one.

The most critical tip - though he will always keep the rest vaguely in mind - scribbles itself within his thoughts.

  1. **Find someone who loves and accepts Ushijima Wakatoshi for himself, volleyball-shaped heart notwithstanding.**



**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading the Watchingtoshi Sakuatsu fic!
> 
> of course Wakatoshi is the wisest one <3
> 
> I hope you laughed, and loved all three of them more by the end
> 
> I love they
> 
> I also appreciate kudos/comments/feedback like Sakuatsu both do in this!!!!
> 
> my other works are [Teach Me, Tune Me, Tempt Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787083), [Within Sight, Within Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443362), [All Bets are Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790006), and [Spiced Up Slice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811360)
> 
> [twitter (18+ only)](http://twitter.com/asakuatsu) \- you can share [the fic graphic](https://twitter.com/ASakuatsu/status/1327776594388193280) to confess your sins
> 
>  **edit:** ty Cath for [a beautiful artwork inspired by this fic](https://twitter.com/aobacath/status/1347192945179455490)


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